


Viridian fire

by xfireflyskyx



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Dragon Bilbo Baggins
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-12
Updated: 2015-12-12
Packaged: 2018-05-06 08:01:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5409125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xfireflyskyx/pseuds/xfireflyskyx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bilbo has a secret, a secret that dictates his very genes and his life.  He can't let the company know because they may kill him if they knew.<br/>Bilbo is a dragon in disguise, but not an ordinray dragon; he is one of the Astral dragons of legend, a race that were tasked with caring for the dragons of the land during the first age.  Now Bilbo is the only one of his kind left.</p><p>What is going to happen when he is faced with Smaug, a dragon who didn't forget, and wont let go of his darkness.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Viridian fire

**Author's Note:**

> I love fics where Bilbo is secretly a dragon; although many I have read have given him a terrible personality and seem to waffle a little too much. Bilbo is timid by nature, and kind and rarely gets into a fight. I hope I do his character justice in this story.

It was to either walk a path littered with the bones of his friends, or soar the skies that were painted the same colour of spilt blood.

The secrets the small creature held deep within his heart could never be told except for the direst of circumstances; a life or death situation that could cost a heavy toll if not paid in full. Bilbo would make sure that toll could never be paid in pain, hurt or loss.

He had lost much already, and all because of this genetic curse cast upon his body. The piercing loneliness that came with it was just a small part of what he is. Isolation was now a practiced art. It came when others kept their distance. Regret was another; regret that filled his mind and soul and forced him to remember the very events that shattered his heart into a thousand pieces.

The loss of his parents that vile winter. Even though this curse only went through the main line of his family, and his mother was the last to hold it except for Bilbo, died within the jaws of a dire wolf. Bilbo cried all through the night and wailed far into the coming nights. His heart and soul also grieved for his father who had followed his wife into that cold grasp of death, leaving Bilbo behind to fend for himself and to live with what he is.

Bilbo was the last that he knew of. He was the last astral dragon. A line that originated from the withered heath; just like the great Drakes of legend.  
Astral dragons took on the form of simple, small creatures in order to protect themselves from the evil of Morgoth in the past. Gradually the strongest took on the form of Hobbits and lived simply and far into the West.

Over time the blood had thinned or they had died out until Bilbo’s family where the last. Now this burden fell onto himself.

The secret of his genes could never be relinquished to the vengeful nature of the leader of the company Bilbo had unwittingly joined. If he so much as commented on a dragon, Thorin would jump down his throat to wrestle with his voice box until Bilbo had to mutter an apology for uttering such a curse word; dragon was a big no no! 

This was why Bilbo was so terrified of the prospect of Thorin ever finding out. Bilbo didn’t fancy the idea of his body lying still against the earth, blood gushing out from a wound inflicted by Orcrist.

Bilbo supposed the only thing he could do was carry on acting like the naïve, humble and kind hearted Hobbit he had years practicing as. Bilbo was so used to the life as a two legged, bare- footed Hobbit that the notion that he owned wings, a tail and scales was a hard concept to grasp with his hair covered head.

“Did you see them?” Thorin hounded Bilbo as soon as he ran through the path leading between two large slabs of rock, exiting before the nervous group of Dwarves.

“Not at all far, possibly a couple of leagues. If we stay any longer they will catch up to us.” Bilbo puffed once he was surrounded by the company. They all possessed worried faces, their eyes flitting here there and everywhere, communicating amongst themselves. 

“But that is not all…” Bilbo stood straight as he addressed Gandalf. “There is something large out there, far larger than a Warg, with a massive black bulk that looks ready to tear the trees away from the roots.”

“What is he talking about Gandalf?” Bofur looked ashen faced, and rightly so. Most of the Dwarves looked unnerved by this important fact Bilbo deemed to share with them.

“There is a house not far from here where we may take refuge.” Gandalf told the group, although Bilbo could tell by the tone of voice that he was being evasive. Bilbo was immediately suspicious. 

“Whose house,” Thorin sounded wary, his sword raised and his voice stern, “are they friend or foe?”

“Neither. He will help us, or…” Gandalf paused, “…he will kill us!”

There was then a loud roar that made everyone turn on the spot to gaze in the direction the sound came from.

“No choice, we need to go!” Bilbo shrieked. He didn’t want to be anywhere near a strange creature he knew next to nothing about. Astral dragons are very self-preserving and timid by nature. This was why evil never touched them during the first age. They would only attack when driven; much like how Bilbo attacked and killed that Orc when Thorin was in danger. His nature told him to move, so he did. 

Landscape swept by as the group made a run for it. Bilbo felt the urge to fly at one point when he felt the ground shake beneath his sensitive feet. The beast was nearing and the house was yet to come within sight.

The company ran with all they had, picking up the pace when they heard the crash of trees breaking in the distance behind them. Gandalf roared for them to move.

Luckily it was only a league or so before they saw the hedges of a large garden. With his keen sight Bilbo could see a house within the borders of those hedges.

The roaring was increasing from behind. Bilbo and the rest of the company belted into the garden, ignoring the watching ponies and the massive bumblebees that sluggishly flew past without a care in the world.

Thorin was the only Dwarf with enough sense to unlatch the door so that it could open. Once the doors swung open the company threw themselves inside. Once all were in they shut the door, forcing the maw of the giant bear to retreat back outside.

“That was Beorn,” Gandalf started once the doors were safely closed and the bear had left, “a skin changer.”

Bilbo started. His Hazel eyes shifting from nut brown to green in his nervousness when he heard those words leave the Wizards mouth. He knew that the man, Beorn, would be able to tell what Bilbo is in a heartbeat.

Without anyone noticing Bilbo slipped away to find a place to hide and to be left in his own company so that he could stew on his thoughts. He ignored the Dwarves as they pottered around, snooping around the actually rather nice home, as he sat within a dark corner and pondered.

This isolation was Bilbo’s only retreat. It was a way to protect himself from the hurt others brought with them. During the journey it was a rare thing for Bilbo to allow the comforts of his own lonely nature. It wasn’t a good thing, his loneliness, but it was all he ever knew since his parents passing. In the mists of his own mind, Bilbo was able seek that comfort he desperately needed.

Needed was different to wanted, but wanting led to hurt. Wanting someone to share in his loneliness, to ease it away was too frightening for Bilbo to risk. He couldn’t risk revealing his heritage. 

It was long into the dark hours. The moon was high in the sky and everyone was asleep. Even Gandalf could be seen dozing in the rather large chair that was carved with leaves and squirrels running along the legs, his head nodding every now and then.

Bilbo was still situated within that dark corner between a wardrobe and a table. His back was up against the stone wall so that he could look out, his eyes half glowing in the gloom like a cat under the blanket of night.

Here Bilbo had sat, waiting for the appearance of the man who could change into a bear. It was a meeting he desperately wanted to avoid. Bilbo was shaking like a leaf now, waiting in fear for the inevitable. How would Thorin kill him once the skin changer announced to the group of the dragon skin changer that had travelled with them for months now.

“Bilbo!”

Bilbo started when he heard a soft voice call his name from outside his little space. He looked out to see Ori sat there, watching Bilbo with a worried expression. His analytical, earthy brown eyes glinting with worry as they looked at Bilbo’s frightened form.

“What are you doing in there? Why didn’t you want anything to eat when offered?” 

‘Ah, trust Ori to notice something was amiss.’ Bilbo thought.

Bilbo didn’t want to answer. How could he tell Ori the truth; that he was frightened of everyone finding out he was a dragon, of how Orcs were chasing them including a skin changer whose form was a gigantic, heavy set black bear.

“Nerves playing up, means I cannot force myself to eat anything until tomorrow.” Bilbo offered the young Dwarf. 

Ori gave him a cynical look but didn’t press the matter. The scribe was clever and didn’t pry, much to Bilbo’s relief. He simply nodded and offered his hand. “You need to get some sleep.”

It took a little while for Bilbo to take the proffered hand, but when he did he immediately felt better at the comforting touch. Nerves were swimming about within his belly, nerves he couldn’t appease himself. 

Ori took him over to the pile of hay the Dwarfs had used to spread their blankets over in a makeshift mattress. Bilbo took a short detour to collect his things he had left by the door earlier and then went over to join Ori.

Within seconds of hitting the hay, Bilbo was fast asleep.

 

The next morning Bilbo carried on sleeping. He was curled up into a fitful little ball upon his red blanket, his voice spouting quiet gibberish. 

One dark haired Dwarf was watching him from his place at the table, his brow crinkled as he cast Sapphire eyes over the small creature. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but it became apparent to Thorin over the course of the journey that Bilbo was keeping a secret so tightly wound within his mind that he had no hope of unwinding it. The Hobbit kept up the adamant front as if it where second nature.

The fact he acted like a timid, scared creature a lot of the time, but then pulled off daring feats of bravery and sure headedness that made Thorin take another look at the puzzling creature. What was it about Bilbo Baggins that unsettled something deep within the sullen Dwarrow?

Thorin turned his head away when he noticed that Beorn was stood beside him, also watching the sleeping form of the Hobbit, a large jug of milk in his hand. His face gave nothing away as to what he was thinking about. Thorin simply returned to his breakfast, spreading honey over a fresh piece of bread.

 

The visions of wide Azure skies stretching far into the horizon gifted Bilbo with knowledge of the past and future. The withered heath situated below the mountain he stood upon. It was a cold climate of harsh blizzards and white bleakness. The ice covered the mountains and the snow covered the tough trees.

All around Bilbo could see dragons of every shape and colour soaring through the air and running amongst the snow within the plains.

It was a prosperous time, albeit a time wracked with secrets and the murmurings of darkness approaching. 

Bilbo watched the dragons in his own dragon form, a silent sentinel casting his eye over the comings and goings of this harsh domain. He didn’t move, only watched. The sun was far into the west, behind him and falling below the edge of the mountains. 

The snow in the fields turned to burning orange in the settling light, the dragons beginning to wind down and seek out their caves and holes to crawl into. 

Bilbo inclined his head and peered over to the other mountain peaks, seeing his kin also watching the night’s process. They too saw and waited upon their lofty crags, taking care in what they witnessed.

That was when the rumbling began. The tremors began deep within the earth and surged up through the mountains, rattling stone and cracking soil.

In a blaze of wild fire, the head of a monstrous black dragon surged out of the earth, evil red eyes honed in on the peaks. Following the head, the enormous body surged out of the giant chasm, its wings extending once they reached the frigid air, blocking out the darkening sky with their sheer size.

The great dragon, the size of a mountain roared its terrible cry, causing thunderclouds to coalesce in its wake. The chorus of the mountain’s rattled with the echo of the beastly roar. All the dragon upon the heath left their burrows to find out what was disturbing them so.

It was a grave mistake. Once the beautiful, wise and kind creatures that played and frolicked in the snow, sharing wisdom and creating riddles morphed into evil beings full of hatred and greed. The shadows they cast upon the fractured ground grew in strength and darkness as their souls were took over by the evil the enormous black dragon had brought with it.

All together the sentinel dragons, except for Bilbo, left their peaks to help their kin. What followed was a bloodbath. The silver and red blood of his kin spilt onto the frozen ground. The shrieks and cries of friends of old faded into the noise of death and despair. 

Bilbo watched with horror, his form still and shaking upon that windy mountain peak. This vision was his very heritage. This was their mistake. This was the downfall of the great race of dragons.

Bilbo awoke with a start when someone shook his shoulders. He opened his eyes to see Gandalf looking at him with a frown on his face.

“The nightmare again?” He whispered, knowing full and well what Bilbo saw.

Bilbo nodded, the tears surging from his eyes without him helping it. Bilbo scrubbed the tears away with the sleeve of his red coat. “I’m fine!”

Gandalf grunted, expecting nothing else from the stubborn Hobbit who was so like his mother even though Bilbo once tried to follow in the path of his father.

“It is the mistake I must carry into my grave. The fact that we couldn’t save them is a burden my kind had to live with all our sad lives.” Bilbo muttered with acute sadness, shaking his head.

Gandalf extended a hand and ruffled the little beings golden locks. Bilbo started, pushing the old man’s hands away from his head with an indignant huff. Gandalf chuckled, knowing how much Bilbo hated being treated like a child. 

It worked though. The joking manner invigorated the Hobbit, brightening his mood and sweeping the dark clouds away. “I’m sorry Gandalf. I’m just moody because I’m hungry!”

Gandalf allowed Bilbo to stand up by himself and then escorted him over to the table. With a hop, Bilbo seated himself into one of the chairs surrounding the large oak table. There was a generous breakfast spread including freshly baked breads and scones, honey in large pots, baked tomatoes and mushrooms, wedges of cheese with powerful odours, porridge, berries of all kinds and apples.

Bilbo inwardly chuckled. It didn’t escape him that the Dwarfs would be disappointed that there was no meat. Bacon and sausages were at the top of their breakfast lists.  
As Bilbo’s hand extended towards a platter full of strawberries he felt a large presence behind him.

“Ah, the little Bunny decided to join us!” Beorn sounded slightly amused in his grim, overpowering manner. The man would have had a presence even if he wasn’t so large.  
Bilbo’s body went slightly tense. This was the moment he had been dreading ever since they entered the skin changers grounds.

“Peace,” The man poured some milk into the mug situated in front of Bilbo, not looking into the nervous Hobbit’s eyes, “No harm will come to you here!”

Bilbo lifted one eyebrow, but then felt the tension wash away when he saw molten brown eyes staring into his own. Beorn was being very serious, and Bilbo believed then that his secret would be kept locked away, safe and sound. 

Thorin watched as the sour expression colouring the Hobbits face melted away and immediately brightened after a few words exchanged between he their grim host.  
Breakfast carried out without any mishaps and that left them to plan their next move. Thorin didn’t want to linger within Beorn’s halls for too long as the weeks were passing into autumn and a cold, winter wind was beginning to blow in over the fields from the east.

Durins day was creeping ever closer and they still had Mirkwood to traverse. Those dense, dark woods full of vile beasts, and worse; the very Elves who failed to help Thorins people when the dragon came.

Thorins heart still burned at the lack of honour and insight the Elves had showed them that day as the halls of his fathers burned in the inferno of dragon fire that had raged through the only true home he had ever known.

The deaths of his people weigh heavy in his heart; he would do everything within his power to end the blight that corrupted the beauty of Erebors halls. The wyrm shall fall.

They spent only four days, lingering and recuperating within the house of Beorn before Thorin called his company together so that they could carry on their journey.

His wounds dealt by the white Warg were only partly healed, but he would tarry no longer. They only had a few weeks left before the last light of autumn passed over the lonely mountain.

Bilbo had been watching the progress of the Dwarfs from the shadow of the trees. His eyes were hazy, clouded with worry. He could feel nothing good coming off their quest. It was an ache he couldn’t shake. The dragon, the gold, the men of Lake Town and the Elves from the dying wood; they all had their part to play. Outside forces were also converging on the sight of the lonely mountain.

Bilbo could see endless fire and death; all that would be the product of this quest if events were allowed to flow. Bilbo could feel that call to protect coming from his very genes; the voice of his heritage could never be ignored.

All too soon Bilbo was bundled onto a pony with a palomino coat and white mane. Bilbo had very little time to say goodbye to the grim, but kind man who took them in begrudgingly due to his dislike of Dwarves, and gave them food and lodging.

Countryside swept by as the ponies ran through the fields in a bid to keep ahead of any Orc packs that were hunting them.

The sky was a beautiful blue, but on the horizon Bilbo could see a blanket of grey that heralded rain. The Misty Mountains left behind and dark forest land loomed ahead.  
Once they reached the edge of the woodland Bilbo could feel his stomach clench with sickness. He could feel the blanket of evil, like a parasite clawing for breath, converging over the plant life and seeping into the very depths of the wood. 

Astral dragons are very pure beings, and any taint could be felt whether it was evil, dirty or in poor health. Only the strongest taints made them feel sick though. That was why he couldn’t hold on to the ring that once belonged to the creature Gollum. Once he made it out of the Goblin tunnels he bequeathed the ring onto Gandalf who in turn took it and hid it on his person well.

Bilbo could never forget the strange look that passed over Gandalf when he took that ring. He too wouldn’t hold onto it, said he couldn’t. He buried it in the soil just before the Orc ambush, leaving his magical imprint over it so that only he could find it again.

The sickness twisting amongst the boughs of the trees felt similar to the ring he found. It was poisonous and heavy, cloying and gross. The once beautiful green land now greying and ashen in its tortuous plunge into decay.

It was a shock when Gandalf admitted to the Dwarves that he had to leave their quest and pursue a question that had formed in his mind. Bilbo didn’t want him to go.

“How can you leave us now?” Bilbo fretted with his little hands clenched into a ball, his eyes moistening. “I can’t go in there without you.” The last was said with a whisper.

Gandalf placed a hand on his shoulder. The contact allowed Gandalf to cast a small protective spell over the ill feeling Hobbit; it was revitalising and the sickness he felt faded away to nothing but a dull ache deep within. “You can and you will. These Dwarves need you Bilbo Baggins. They need your type of courage and resolve to see this quest through to the end. After all, who else is going to keep them in line when I am gone?”

Bilbo laughed at the twinkle on the man’s grey eyes. “You are right Gandalf. I gave my word after all, I will see to it that they get their mountain back.” Bilbo had to swallow the lump that formed in his throat. He couldn’t tell Gandalf about what he felt coming over the horizon. It wasn’t a certainty, only a notion of what could come to pass.  
“No my boy, remember what I told you?”

“I do! After all- you told my mother the same thing!”  
“So I did!”  
Gandalf managed to grasp the horses reigns before Gloin and Bifur set it free and swung his legs up and over the saddle.

“Stay on the path! If you lose your way you will never find it again.” The grey Wizard warned the party grimly. “The forest is oozing with sickness that will attempt to penetrate your minds. Be cautious!” And with that the Wizard spurned his horse and galloped away.

With a worried heart although determined mind Bilbo followed the lead of Thorin as he found the beginning of the path and led the company of fourteen through the gloomy trees.

 

Near starvation, enchanted waters and monstrous spiders were some of the worst things the company were forced to encounter on their journey.

The path winded endlessly through the boughs of the half eaten trees. The decay started at the roots and ate its way up; this meant that many trees tops were supported by the trees that still had a hold of the ground. 

Fungus spores drifted through the still air sluggishly as the purple half- light played with their eyes, making them believe they were seeing things that were not actually there.  
Eerie lights could be seen through the trees in the darkest nights they ever had to sleep through. They were like blue and yellow wisps; lost souls who wanted to coax them away from the path they followed.

With the lights came laughter and song and music. This confused the Dwarves who were delirious from their hunger. They had spent close to two weeks in this infernal wood and were making very little progress.

Bilbo urged the Dwarves to continue and that following the lights was a bad idea. Thankfully Thorin listened to him for once and told the group to keep to the path.

On one evening Fili and Kili came up to Bilbo when they were sat around the fire. Even though in the beginning the fire attracted the beasts that lived amongst the trees, they stayed away. Their curious stares could be seen in the dark; their eyes glowed spookily as they watched but never ventured that close. What the Dwarves didn’t know was that they were wary of the dragon hiding amongst their party.

Bilbo would stare the creatures down with his own glowing eyes, green for effect and warning them to stay back.

“How are you holding up so well?” Fili asked the small being. They only had a meagre amount of food to eat and tempers were cut thin. Bilbo was the only one who kept a stiff upper lip and forged on with a purpose in mind.

“It’s an ability gifted to me by my mother. She was an adventurous soul who could see the fun in absolutely anything. I just think of her sometimes, and it keeps me going.”

The two brothers nodded. They too were able to familiarize with the Hobbit. Kili took after his mother so much whereas Fili took after his father; although they were both cheeky by nature and often got into trouble with their mother and uncle.

“That’s like me with our mother,” Kili dug about in his pocket and brought out a polished blue stone that gleamed in the firelight. “This is the rune stone. A promise to my mother that I will return to her.”

Kili showed the stone off, but Bilbo never made a move to touch it. It was something precious and personal to Kili; he didn’t want to trespass on that emotion the stone obviously invoked in the young Dwarf.

Unconsciously Bilbo grasped the chain that dangled around his neck. It was a chain of glinting silver attached to a gem that glowed like pure starlight. It was a family heirloom he hadn’t shown to anyone else. It was said to be so old that it was forged sometime during the first age, long before the war of wrath and the downfall of the great dragons.

It was a gift passed down through all in the family that possessed the dragon genes. If Bilbo died before having an heir he could pass it on to the next person he deemed trustworthy enough to keep his secret.

Luckily the two Dwarfs didn’t see what Bilbo was holding in his hand as they were too busy nattering amongst themselves about something Bilbo had no knowledge off. He simply smirked at their antics, not realising that Bilbo was chuckling from his place on the log between them.

Soon after that they all went to bed, with Dwalin taking the first watch. Bilbo felt calm when both Fili and Kili insisted he sleep near them. Everyone noticed how fitfully the Hobbit slept lately, tossing and turning with sweat running down his forehead. Once it got so bad that he actually woke up with a start suddenly and had to run to the edge of camp so that he could throw up the meagre amount of food that was in his stomach. 

Kili nuzzled in close with his hand on Bilbo’s shoulder. He desperately wanted the Hobbit to sleep well that night. Bilbo fell asleep quickly with Dwalin watching every now and then. He noted right until he woke his brother for the next watch that Bilbo didn’t move an inch.

 

“I can see something creeping beneath the boughs of the trees!” Kili shrieked suddenly, causing the party to pause mid step.

“Something such as?” Bofur nervously asked, not at all liking the thought of anything at all creeping up on them so that they could sink their fangs into their flesh.

“I don’t know!” The dark haired Dwarf sounded sort of affronted for some reason. “I saw a shadow pass amongst the trees over there, other than that I saw nothing else.”

“But it may come back. It could be dangerous!” Bofur trudged along when Thorin carried on walking, ignoring the bickering that was about to begin.

“I think this whole forest is savage, but the beasts won’t come any closer, or did that escape you lot?” Bilbo’s temper began to flare for real now. He managed to hold on to his temper only just by remembering his home in the Shire, his mother and father and his favourite passages in his favourite books. Now these Dwarfs were going to unsettle his mental equilibrium.

“No need to get snarky with us lad!” Dwalin growled out after Bilbo’s biting remark.

“Snarky!” Bilbo was affronted now, “I have spent the latter part of the week listening to all of you blowing your tops only because of the lack of food we have been eating. At least I was able to hold back from joining in on your childish squabbles!”

Bilbo didn’t have time to flinch before Dwalin was running at him, a mad glint in his eye. Immediately the others tensed, ready to spring in and separate any fight that may begin. Dwalin was ready to grab Bilbo, and Bilbo was ready to make a dash for it before Thorin ran up to them, his face thunderous.

“What is this now? Pick your time and place for we are being watched.” Quiet ensued, the company looking everywhere they could.

Bilbo glared at Dwalin for the last time before he too looked into the purple shadows of the trees. At first he couldn’t see anything, but the longer he looked the more he could sense. With his sensitive Draconic hearing the sounds of hacking and screeches, shouts and strange eerie growls could be heard.

“I don’t think we should stay here any longer.” Bilbo muttered quietly, his pupils eerily thin due to how spooked he was.

“I agree, let us go.” Thorin led them further along the path. Despite their hunger and weariness the whole company sped up, not wanting to linger much longer in these cursed woods.

The morning rays struggled to penetrate the canopy, but the odd beam of golden sunlight managed to pierce the foliage. Bilbo lavished the sun’s rays whenever he passed through them. Bilbo, even as a Hobbit, was a creature of sunlight. During his time spent in this dark land Bilbo pined silently for the touch of sun on his skin and the wind through his hair. Here the air was still, clogged up with sick vapours that were thankfully kept at bay by Gandalf’s protective spell.

He didn’t want to wonder how long the spell would last for. He shuddered to think that it would run out whilst he was still trespassing within this ill land, and that his sickness would surge up and gradually kill him. That was how sensitive his kind were to any magical taint.

As they half ran half walked Bilbo could tell that the slashing sounds were toning down in frequency and volume. In its place he heard nothing. Nothing, not even the cries of forest animals.

All of a sudden they were surrounded by tall humanoid creatures who had bows pointed at them. Thorin growled low, Bilbo catching the word ‘Elves’ cursed under his breath like it was poison.

Immediately Bilbo could feel his heartrate speed up. They looked so different, so fierce and wild compared to the Elves of Rivendell, who appeared far more civilised and warm.  
“Don’t make me kill you Dwarf, it would be my pleasure!” A tall Elf with long blonde hair and bright blue eyes warned Thorin as he pointed a viciously sharp arrow right near his cheek. Thorin scowled darkly at the Elf.

Bilbo heard the Sindarin language for a fleeting moment before the Elves were manhandling them all and rooting through their bags and pockets. 

Bilbo let out a muffled shriek when an Elf practically picked him up to check his coat pockets. Bilbo looked up to see a different male Elf eying him with curiosity. It was as if he had never seen a Hobbit before.

‘But then again, he probably hasn’t.’ Bilbo thought.

The Elf carried on blitzing through his pockets, ignoring the indignant Hobbit who kept trying to whack his hands away from his personal space. The Elf shot him a dark look which made Bilbo freeze up finally.

The Elf took his elven dagger away. 

But then the Elf noticed a silver glint coming from the vicinity of Bilbo’s neck. The Elf reached down into Bilbo’s neckline with the speed of an Adder strike, his fist enclosing around the white gemstone.

“DON’T TOUCH THAT!” Bilbo screamed frantically, garnering the attention of everyone else because the shout was so strong. 

Bilbo attempted to jump up to retrieve his gem, but the Elf simply grasped onto the back of his collar, keeping him in place as if he were a small and weak child. “Quiet down fool!” The Elf barked at him, ignoring the tears beginning to form in the small beings eyes. 

No one else except for close family had ever touched this most precious object. It felt like an encroachment on his very soul. Bilbo felt degraded and dirty because of it.  
The Elf shouted for the apparent leader with the blonde hair, exchanging a few words in Sindarin whilst looking over the piece of jewellery.

Bilbo watched with his heart pattering like a rabbits under the gaze of a fox; he felt sick at the thought of losing it. He would rather die than lose it before passing it on to the next most trusted and loved one.

Balin was there suddenly, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. Bilbo looked back and gave him a fake smile, although he was still grateful to the older Dwarf for it all the same.

The blonde Elf took the gem and then spun around. Before anyone knew it he was stood before Bilbo, the gem dangling on its chain within one hand. “Where did you come by this?” He asked shortly. Bilbo noticed that he had also taken Orcrist, which was now strapped to his waist. 

Bilbo didn’t grace the man with an answer, simply a, “return what is mine,” in a surprisingly chilling voice for such a soft looking creature. The Elf noticed the small beings eyes flash from nut brown to a vibrant forest green.

“I won’t bequeath this back onto you, at least not for now.” The Elf turned feeling immensely suspicious, signalling for the others to bring the Dwarfs. They carried on marching through the woods.  
The blonde Elf had questions he wanted answering.

 

The Elves escorted the indignant and furious Dwarfs through the sinister woodland towards an unknown destination. Only two Dwarfs suspected where they were going. Balin was full of worry for how his king was going to behave whilst Thorin could feel the rage boiling beneath his skin, wanting to lash out any way it could.

Meanwhile, Bilbo felt apprehensive. He had no idea what was going to befall the group; after all these Elves did not seem at all friendly. They led them over a little stone bridge over a raging river. The waters were white and frothy, running its course through a pretty gorge.

The only downside to this picturesque place were the dying plant life.

Carved doors swung open with a guard on each side, welcoming the patrol back into its halls. The dwarfs followed nervously, expecting a not very warm welcome. It was times like these Bilbo wished he had kept the ring that made him invisible. 

He could feel the sinister and curious stares of the woodland folk as they made their way through their home. The cavern was a sight to see, carved out of the soft limestone in walkways that resemble the trees outside, although more elegant and stylised. 

Waterfalls cascaded everywhere and the rushing sounds of a river could be heard coming from somewhere deep within the magnificent hall. Sunlight also burst through and lit up glass or Bilbo thought it may have been crystal, which helped to illuminate the vast cavern. The crystals hung as chandeliers from up near the cavern roof, off natural stalactites of massive girth.

Remembering their predicament and noting the fact that they had stopped moving, Bilbo noticed a throne situated on the top of a stone dais. The throne was menacing, showcasing massive carved antlers as decoration. Sat upon the throne was an Elf with imposing eyes and wearing a hawthorn crown which signified the autumn with its silvers and reds.

The Elf, evidently the king, looked over them with one eyebrow raised and looking all the world a king with his lax lounging in his throne, his arms comfortingly lounging on the arm rests. “What is this?” He said in an almighty tone.

“We found them wondering through the woods my king.” The blonde Elf who took Bilbo’s necklace said, approaching the king without any kind of trepidation. 

“Dwarfs wondering though my realm of dappled light, wondering shadows and whispering life. How fascinating!” The king then stood abruptly, making his way down to the assembled Dwarfs, the blonde Elf following closely.

“I am surprised the spiders didn’t catch them,” the king spoke as if they were not there, carrying on talking to the blonde Elf. Bilbo noticed how alike the two seemed.  
“The spiders wouldn’t go anywhere near them. We watched and waited for them to move. It was as if something was keeping that filth at bay.”

“I have to wonder as to why that is!” The intimidating king cast an airy eye over the assembled group. “Indeed, why would those fell beasts allow these creatures to stray away from their webs; I believe something must be at work here.” He quirked a single dark eyebrow as he watched the fidgeting Dwarfs.

“We also found these,” the Blonde Elf pulled Orcrist from the Scabbard, brandishing it before the eyes of the king. The king made no movement, only his eyes glanced at the sword for a moment before the Elf holstered it once again. He then pulled Bilbo’s chain from the inside of his tunic, dangling the glinting white gem before the king.

Bilbo watched with acute trepidation as recognition sparked inside his eyes, his lips parting in a silent gasp as he reached out and held the gem.  
Bilbo swallowed, noticing everyone looking at his beloved necklace, his stomach committing heinous turbulent acts as he broke out in a slight sweat.

“Faana morwinyon,” the king said in awe, “the White star that glints with a silver light in the darkest of nights, a most beloved treasure.” The king turned his head and looked at the Dwarfs curiously. “How does one of the ancient trinkets of the great astral dragons come into the possession of an unruly gabble of Dwarfs? Such items have been lost for millennia. Ages have passed since such beautiful relics have shown themselves before the peoples of Arda.”

Bilbo glanced around from his place in the centre of the company, his knees jittering with nerves. None of them were saying a thing, although Thorin’s jaw was clenched with apparent anger. His eyes were stormy, a grim darkness stirring beneath sapphire irises as he watched the king who stood above them, awaiting an answer.

“I grow impatient!” the king snapped.

“It belongs to me!” Bilbo shouted, his eyes clenched shut and his heartbeat beating erratically within his chest cavity. He could not believe he just spoke out in this manner.

“Oh? And who are you?” The king looked over Bilbo as the Dwarves parted to allow him to walk out to the front.

“Ah...um…” Bilbo flustered, feeling hot beneath his cloths. He had spoken out on impulse, but now he regretted that action with his entire fibre of his being. 

“Tell me Halfling, are you the owner of this beautiful treasure?” The king held the gem up into a sunbeam that had penetrated the roof of the cavern, which then began to glitter like a star at night.

Bilbo swallowed, knowing full well that the secret he wished to never tell another soul may well come out right here and now. Against his will, Bilbo could be subjugated to the festering loathing all Dwarfs feel about dragons. He couldn’t deal with any hate dealt upon him by the folk he had come to see as a family along their so far long and tiring journey.

“It is mine!” Bilbo steeled his nerves, waiting for something to happen.

“How did a Halfling come across such an artefact?” The king questioned.

Bilbo wouldn’t say anything, couldn’t say anything. He felt as if he was going to faint on the spot with fright. The scrutiny, the eyes set upon him was grounding him to the inner fear and darkness he kept locked away in his soul. For the first time since he was a Fountling, Bilbo wanted to simply shift into his true form and fly far away to safety, preferably home. He wouldn’t go without his necklace however.

“Legolas, take the Dwarfs to the cells.” The king told the blonde Elf before he turned back to Bilbo, eying him without emotion, “I wish to talk to this Hobbit some more in private.”

“Yes father,” Legolas complied. He made some gestures to the guards and his patrol who then herded the Dwarfs away. 

“Bilbo,” Bofur attempted to get to Bilbo, but the Elves wouldn’t have it. One simply grasped the collar of his dirty coat and pulled him along, the Dwarf spouting out angry obscenities to the taller being. Bilbo watched him go with a mixture of fear and sadness, also noticing the look Thorin threw him before the Hobbit was left alone with the Elven King.

Bilbo didn’t turn around right away; he simply stood in that spot in the powerful sunbeam that did nothing to keep the chill of trepidation at bay. He could swear his heart was beating at the same frequency as the hummingbirds that sometimes visited his garden, except he wasn’t taking part in that tranquil, welcoming scene. Bilbo wanted to pretend he wasn’t in the halls of the Elven king, separated from his travelling companions and now friends, all under the scrutiny of a king who could throw him to the Orcs and no one could do a thing about it.

“No need to feel so out of place,” the airy voice of the king drifted over causing to start again, “as I understand it you would like your trinket back.”

Bilbo turned slowly, looking up and into the eyes of the king. He swallowed, watching the king watching him as if he were a curio from an exotic land. ‘To be honest I am a strange creature in this part of the world,’ Bilbo thought.

The king was still holding onto his necklace, although the gem was now in the palm of his hand and he was looking at it with a strange, faraway glint in those pale depths. It was a feral gaze, belonging to a feral although sophisticated being. This king was totally different to the kindness that Lord Elrond possessed; Bilbo had to wonder if this king too held any kindness in his superior demeanour.

“I indeed would like my ‘trinket’ back, great King.” Bilbo put on his brave, polite voice he used in everyday society. It was a voice he used rarely when travelling with the Dwarves, who kept up their free spirited banter which Bilbo was only too happy to reciprocate in his own way.

“I am Thranduil, king of the green wood. To whom does this piece of jewellery belong to?”

“My name is Bilbo Baggins of the Shire, and that necklace belongs to my line; that of the Astral dragons of life.”

**Author's Note:**

> I realise that his Astral line sounds cheesy right now, I hope to change it when I can think of something more fitting.


End file.
